Queen of the North
by Whatever Makes You Break
Summary: Wolf blood coursed through her veins, wild and untamed as the beaten snow. No man could ever tame a wolf, but perhaps, a lion could. Jaime/OC
1. Prologue

_**Prologue**_

–

_The perfect companion never  
__has fewer than four feet._

–

"He's just a boy," she said quietly to her brother Robb as their horses climbed the hillside. "He's still far too young to–"

"Spare me, Eleonora. I was his age, younger even, when I saw my first," said Robb, turning his head to meet his lady sister's uneasy gaze, "as were you."

The cool morning alluded to the end of summer. A large group set forth at the break of dawn to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, nineteen men and but one woman. It was the first time young Bran Stark had been told by his lord father that he was old enough to see the king's justice done.

The man cut down from the wall and dragged before them looked terrified and defeated as Lord Stark lead his party to their destination. Robb and Jon sat tall and still on their horses. Eleonora rode closely between Robb and Bran as the little lord looked almost gleeful upon his pony, trying to seem older than seven, experienced and worldly. A faint wind blew through the holdfast gate. Over their heads flapped the banner of the Starks of Winterfell: a grey direwolf racing across an ice-white field.

Lord Eddard Stark sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his forty years. He had a grim cast to his grey eyes this day, and he seemed not at all the man who would sit before the fire in the evening and talk softly of the age of heroes and the children of the forest.

Eleonora was three years her brother's senior, nineteen and wise beyond her years. She dawned long black hair that fell just above her waist in loose glossy waves and a small but formidable stature. She was undeniably beautiful, her icy blue eyes inherited from the Tullys of Riverrun, served as one of her most striking features. Her crystal blue orbs had pierced the very souls of Robb and many others in her time. She was more of a second mother to many of her younger siblings, but not to Robb – never to Robb. He was her best friend and her confidant. Robb Stark had always been her equal. When Lord Eddard Stark brought his bastard son home from war, shattering Lady Stark's heart, it was Eleonora and Robb who never allowed Jon Snow to feel anything less than a brother. Their hearts would always beat as one.

Bran galloped innocently ahead on his steed, blissfully ignorant to the gruesome sight he was to behold. "I survived it. And for pity's sake, Nora, you're a girl and you fought your way to see your first long before I did."

"Because I was ready," she snapped, "and if I remember correctly, it was you –Robb– who released a scream only heard from the mouths mating goats as soon as you saw Father grip his sword your first witness to the king's justice."

Jon released a snort that he instantly tried to conceal as soon as his half-brother shot him a particularly nasty look. Nora smirked in a very satisfied manner to herself, dug her heels into her horse's side and galloped ahead of the men. Lord Stark eyed his daughter as she appeared as one upon her steed. She was a skilled horsewoman, wolf blood coursing through her veins. For a moment, just a moment, Lord Stark forgot he was watching his eldest daughter. He saw Lyanna. She looked so much like his sister had at that age, wild and unrestrained, handsome and protected by the frozen north. She was so very much like Lyanna that at times it frightened him. Arya, his youngest daughter, was much like his late sister as well, but she was not bestowed with the beauty or the effortless charm that Eleonora attained. She was his eldest child, and she had lived up to her birthright by serving as a strong, maternal figure to her sisters and a wise, capable fighter to her brothers. He would break every bone in the body of the man who ever dare compromise his first child's happiness and unadulterated spirit, but he knew Eleonora would have accomplished such a feat in her own honor long before her lord father would have the opportunity.

"Do not wander far ahead, Daughter," Lord Stark shouted. "I do not find any urgency or excitement in reaching our destination this morning, would you agree?"

"Of course not, Father," she replied, pulling harshly on her reins and begrudgingly returning to Robb's side. "I apologize."

Lord Stark nodded his appreciation for her apology and returned his attention forward once again. Robb raised his eyebrows in a smug manner.

"Shut up," she muttered, simpering to herself.

When the group of northerners did reach their destination, Eleonora positioned herself closely behind Bran. The young boy did not appear grateful for his sister's cosseting, sending her a warning glare that was far too mature for his age. He did not want to appear weak in front of his lord father. There were questions asked and answers given there in the chill of morning, but afterward the edler Stark children knew by the hazey look upon Bran's face that he would not be able to recall much of what had been said.

Finally Lord Stark gave the command, and two of the loyal guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing held an edge like Valyrian steel.

Lord Stark peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

Eleonora did not dare cover Bran's eyes, but as soon as her lord father raised Ice in the air, she maternally rested her arms across Bran's chest. She would never tell the older boys how fast his heart was beating or how he ever so subtly cringed as the blade sliced through the ragged man's neck with ease. Bran did not pull away from her, not because he didn't want to, but because he feared his buckling knees would betray him without her arms to balance him.

Lord Stark took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting. The snows around the stump drank it eagerly, reddening as the group watched.

The head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon was a lean, dark youth of nearly twenty who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head, and kicked it away.

"Theon, control yourself for the gods' sake," Nora hissed.

"Arse," Jon muttered, low enough so no one but Robb and Nora could hear. He put a hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother. "You did well," Jon told him solemnly. Jon was newly fifteen, an old hand at justice in his own right. Nora nodded her agreement and gently led the young boy back to his pony.

It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky.

"The deserter died bravely," Robb said. He was big and broad and growing every day, with Lady Catelyn's coloring, the fair skin, auburn hair, and blue eyes almost as piercing as his sister's. "He had courage, at the least."

"No," Jon replied quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark."

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age a year younger than Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

Robb was not impressed. "The Others take his eyes," he swore. "He died well. Race you to the bridge?"

"Done," Jon said, kicking his horse forward. Robb cursed and followed, and they galloped off down the trail, Robb laughing and hooting, Jon silent and intent. The hooves of their horses kicked up showers of snow as they went.

Bran did not try to follow. His pony could not keep up, and he knew this. He had seen the ragged man's eyes, and he was thinking of them now. After a while, the sound of Robb's laughter receded, and the woods grew silent again.

"Are you alright, pup?" asked Eleonora, pulling her eyes away from the distancing boys before returning to the quiet expression of her little brother.

"I wish you wouldn't call me that, Nora," he sighed.

"Do not avoid the question, _Bran_," she replied, never missing a breath. "Are you quite well?"

"Yes," he said with little confidence, "stop asking."

Bran dug his heels deeper into his already struggling pony in order to distance himself from his older sister. Nora frowned and wisely chose not to catch up to the little lord. She was so deep in her thoughtful concern that she never heard the rest of the party until her father moved up to ride beside her.

"You would do well not to coddle him. Your mother is already more than capable of that," said Eddard Stark, not unkindly. "He'll end up resenting you for it."

"I treat him the same as I did Robb and Jon," she replied, keeping her gaze forward onto Bran.

"Bran is not like Robb and Jon, and you know that as well as I," he retorted. "He feels as if he has much more to prove. Robb and Jon never had two older brothers to intimidate him."

"I believe he is far more intimidated by his father than his brothers," Nora half-grinned, only chancing a sideways glance at her father.

"Perhaps," he smirked down at his daughter, "and rightfully so. I am a daunting figure of a warrior."

Lord Stark, wrapped in his furs and leathers, mounted on his great warhorse, loomed over her like a giant, puffed out his chest and raised his chin in a comically arrogant manner. He quickly released his enormous breath and joined in a shared chuckle with his daughter. Lord Stark was intimidating to all his enemies (though few in number they may be), but he was merely a kind and honorable lord to those who truly knew him.

"Daunting, indeed," she smiled. "I fear if you were to inhale any more air into your stomach that you'd resemble King Robert... well, air and any additional meat and ale."

Lord Stark betrayed himself with a curt chuckle but then thought better of it. He attempted to play off his laugh as a cough stuck deep in his throat. His daughter smiled to herself and allowed her father to do so.

"You know better than to speak ill of the king, Eleonora," warned Lord Stark.

"Do I?" she replied with an upward inflection.

"I also know that you would never think of making such a joke in the king's presence," said Lord Stark confidently.

"I will try to restrain myself," said Nora.

"See that you do," he replied.

"The king would never travel this far north," she said. "Thus he would never have the opportunity to relish my humor. Pity."

"Alas, perhaps that is a blessing in disguise," said Eddard. "I will go and see to Bran, mind to your brothers."

Eleonora nodded to her father, clicked her tongue and raced gracefully ahead after Robb and Jon. Lord Stark watched her for a instant before seeing to Bran. Lord Stark hoped his daughter would never come before the king again. Lady Eleonora resembled Lyanna Stark far too much for Eddard's liking and he knew Robert would share his sentiment in a much different way. Lord Stark blinked suddenly and quickly led his horse after Bran, his fleeting thoughts dwindling with the distance between himself and his daughter.

–

"Oi, Nora, come and see what we've found," called Robb from below the underside of the sedgy knoll.

She eased her steed down the hill, the horse's muscular legs crossing with great skill. She slid down from her saddle and hurried to her brothers' side, lifting her heavy skirts to ease her strides. Robb stood near the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in white, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the he and Jon talked in hushed, excited voices.

Eleonora slowly approached the large figure before them. Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume.

"Jon, go call to father and the others," she said in a stern tone that silenced the fevered chatter between the boys. Jon swallowed awkwardly and rushed his horse back over the hill.

Eleonora glimpsed blind eyes crawling with maggots, a wide mouth full of yellowed teeth. But it was the size of it that made her gasp. It was bigger than a pony, twice the size of the largest hound in her father's kennel. She knelt down before the beast, cautiously placing her long, thin fingers on upon the animal's coat of fur.

"Robb, it's a direwolf," she breathed, pulling her chin inward against her shoulder as he looked down at her from behind. "It _was_ a direwolf. No one has seen a direwolf south of the Wall in hundreds of years."

The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jon, Jory and Theon were the first to reach the them again. Theon was laughing and joking as he rode, but all could heard the breath go out of him.

"Gods!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword. Jory's sword was already out.

"Nora, get away from it!" he called as his horse reared under him.

Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms.

"She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory, unless you mean Nora. In that case, you'd need far more than a sword to slay her."

Nora tore her eyes away from the beast, shooting Robb an amused look before noticing the bundle in his arms for the first time. There was a pup that looked more like a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb's chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound.

"There are six of them," said Jon, referencing the small collection of pups upon the thick mound of snow.

Eleonora placed a greyish colored pup in Bran's arms from the ground, allowing him to cradle the pup like his older brother. She spotted a small black ball of fluff in the opaline snow and plucked it up from the ground. Nora instantly questioned how she had survived nineteen years without this tiny mongrel. The pup nuzzled its tiny head against her fur shawl.

"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of horse. "I like it not."

"It is a sign," Jory said.

Lord Stark frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?"

"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, appearing proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. "There, just under the jaw..."

Their father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood. A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak.

His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.

"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales... maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."

"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."

"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."

Young Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay that made Eleonora's stomach lurch.

"The sooner the better," Theon agreed, drawing his sword in an almost gleeful manner. "Give the beast here, Bran." The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood.

"No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."

Eleonora, never missing a beat, reached for her dagger from her waist holster and extended it against Theon's throat, a threat that was far from uncommon to the young ward of the Iron Islands. He froze in place, his Adam's apple sliding up and down his neck no matter how hard he tried to remain unaffected.

"Theon Greyjoy, may the gods have mercy on your forgotten soul if you lay one hand on that pup," Eleonora threatened. She motioned for Bran to stand behind her with the pup held tight against his chest.

"Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb agreed firmly. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, like the lord he would someday be. "We will keep these pups."

"Daughter, put your dagger away," said Eddard Stark, smirking slightly, "you're embarrassing the boy."

Nora slowly lowered her dagger, glaring at Theon like a menacing wild beast. Theon released a sigh of relief and returned his sword in his holster.

"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.

"Lord Stark," said Jon. "There are six pups, three male, three female."

"What of it, Jon?"

"You have six trueborn children," said Jon. "Three sons, three daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."

Eddard Stark's face instantly changed as the other men exchange glances.

"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do," said Eddard begrudgingly.

"They won't die," Robb said.

"We won't let them die," Eleonora added.

"Keep them, then," said Eddard. "Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."

Before the group was halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked.

"Can't you hear it?"

All that could be heard was the wind in the trees and the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, but Jon was listening to something else.

"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the seventh pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey and black. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning.

"An albino," Theon said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."

Jon Snow gave his father's ward a long, chilling look.

"I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs to me."

–

_**A/N: **__So here we go again. I am obsessed with Game of Thrones, and I had this idea hanging around in my noggin for awhile... so here it is. I feel like this chapter was stilted and terrible. I used a bit of book dialogue towards the end, but I hope to not rely on much at all after this. Please don't berate it based on that. I just wanted to establish Nora's role in the family, so we have an idea why she makes the decisions she will make. You'll see..._

_**P.S. **__Eleonora is pronounced "Elle-oh-nor-uh" like "Eleanor" with "a" at the end. I hope that makes anyone who was confused, less confused._

_**P.S.S.**__ Anyone who is like "WTF get to work on 'Double Crossed NOW forget making a new story' – I am still working on the next chapter. I'm like 70% done. Stay tuned. I have not abandoned them!_

_**Coming Soon:**__ Eleonora meets King Robert, Queen Cersei, the Imp and the Lannister Lion._

–

_**Review.**_


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter One**_

–

_Hell is empty and all the devils are here._

–

Robb collapsed onto Eleonora's freshly made bed, casually placing his hands behind his head to prop up his head to look lazily at the ceiling. The dark auburn-haired lord yawned loudly and repositioned his head to peer over at his eldest sister, who had been staring silently out the window for several minutes. Her blue eyes remained determined, gazing despondently onto the courtyard of Winterfell. Eleonora released a heavy sigh, closing her eyes thoughtfully for a moment and freed her knuckle from her front teeth. Nyx, her quick growing, black direwolf pup, snoozed comfortably on his master's navy blue chase.

"Stop acting so glum," said Robb, rolling his eyes and returning his attention towards the ceiling though Eleonora's sheer overhanging drapes. "The king is coming to Winterfell for the first time in nearly a decade, this is an exciting time."

"And with the king comes the Lannisters and with the Lannisters comes trouble," she said quietly. "You know as well as I that King Robert is coming to ask father to be his Hand while he's here."

"And honor many men would die for–"

"And an honor many_ have _died for," she retorted. "Jon Arryn was a good man, and he died in the position the king will offer to father."

"He died naturally, Nora," said Robb in an annoyed tone.

"There is no such thing as a _natural_ death," she frowned, "not with the Lannisters at arms-length.

"Eleonora–"

"Spare me, Robb, you know all the stories – _the disgusting whispers_," said Eleonora. "They're rich, powerful and dangerous by default. With a Lannister sitting upon the thrown beside the king, no one is safe."

"Be careful, sis," said Robb, "if anyone heard you make such an accusation could charge you with treason."

"Are you going to turn me," she teased, "prop my head up on a spike and watch me rot?"

She playfully placed her hands around her own neck and pretended to choke, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out.

"Fuck off," he laughed, throwing a pillow at her and knocking her backwards. "You know I would never breathe a word we speak to each other – it is utter nonsense most of the time anyway."

"The king's coming, the king's coming," said Rickon excitedly, dangling over Jon's shoulder in the open doorway. Rickon was in his third-year, small for his age, but was as wild as any of his other siblings. He was the youngest child, and though it was unintentional, received far less attention from his mother as the rest received at his age – besides Jon.

"We were just discussing that fact," said Robb, sitting up to lean against his sister's headboard and sending her a thoughtful glance.

"Come here, little pup," said Eleonora, forcing a kind smile as she lifted the youngest Stark from Jon's arms.

She swung her little brother around before finally tossing him affectionately on to Robb, causing him to release a humored groan before tickling the little lord to tears. Jon plopped himself on to Eleonora's mattress, resting his back against one of the four wooden posts of the bed near the foot. Jon sported a very distant look, staring without seeing through the thick paned window across the room. Eleonora walked beside her half-brother and placed a loving hand on his shoulder, using her gentle touch to easily force Jon's eyes to meet her own. She knew what was troubling him for it was always the same.

"She said 'no,'" said Nora in an knowing tone.

Jon nodded solemnly. Lady Catelyn Stark had always kept Jon Snow at arms length. She found it much easier to live with the fact that her husband had bedded another woman by blaming the innocent child instead of her guilty husband. Eleonora was much more of a mother to him than Lady Catelyn Stark had ever been, and she was a mere half decade older.

"I will speak with her," said Eleonora with authority.

"No," said Jon sternly, shaking his head. "It's not worth it."

"Jon–"

"No, Nora," he insisted.

His eldest sister sighed, affectionately ran her fingers through his dark hair and reluctantly agreed. However, she still intended to speak with her mother no matter how much a waste of time that might be. Robb eyed his sister and sent her a despondent look that she returned. Nora cleared her throat and motioned towards Rickon who was nuzzled cozily beside Robb.

"Well, let's get you ready to meet that big, fat king," said Eleonora, picking the small boy up on to her hip. She placed a sloppy kiss on his cheek, clicking her tongue inside her cheek for Nyx to follow.

–

"There you are," Lady Catelyn Stark exclaimed. "Why haven't you changed?"

Eleonora found her mother in the chambers she shared with her husband. Catelyn stood behind Sansa Stark who appeared all too pleased with herself as her mother brushed her beautiful auburn hair. Sansa and Eleonora had never really gotten along, though Sansa had never really seen eye-to-eye with any of her siblings. She was every bit a princess, obsessed with the royal court of King's Landing, a pretty little girl with silly little dreams. Eleonora loomed before them, propping out her hip dramatically as Rickon nuzzled himself comfortably under her chin. He began to drift off as soon as he became comfortable in his sister's arms. Nyx plopped down on the stone ground and made herself at home beside her master.

"What's the matter with what I'm wearing?" she asked, placing a quick, gently kiss atop her brother's head as she began to sway from side to side in order to soothe him.

"Everything," Sansa muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Do make sure to Prince Joffrey has an opportunity to witness that cheery disposition of yours, Sansa," said Eleonora, glaring at her sister while simultaneously keeping her nose in the air. "I'm certain he'll find you most agreeable."

"You have that lovely, new blue gown," said Catelyn, ignoring the impending quarrel between her eldest daughters.

"It's too tight, mother," she sighed. "I would like to be retain the ability to breathe."

"You're exaggerating," Catelyn frowned, brushing Sansa's hair for the umpteenth time. "Have Septa help you adjust the corset."

"I refuse–"

"Maybe I could wear it," said Sansa with a faux innocent tone that made Eleonora's skin crawl. "I requested the fabric before Nora in the first place."

"You're too tall and too broad," said Eleonora. "If it's snug on me then it certainly would not fit you."

"Mother-" Sansa whined.

"Not today, girls," she breathed. "Please, just not today. Sansa, go and put on your pink gown. It's beautiful, and you look lovely in it. No more arguing, find Septa and take your brother with you."

"No, it's alright. Rickon missed his nap with all the excitement going on. Let him rest on my hip until I can lay him down. But I wanted to speak with you," said Eleonora, her gaze falling from her mother on to Sansa, "alone."

Sometimes her mother's seemingly apathetic attitude towards her children bothered Eleonora. She was not a cold woman, far from it in fact. No one could question the immense love she had for her children but there was a distance that remained under the surface that nearly took Eleonora by surprise at times. Sometimes it seemed as if loving her children was something she knew she had to do instead of an innate gift. She never cared to play or jest or laugh with them, she only had the energy to love them. Eleonora could easily be described as coarse at times, even crass on the wrong day, but her maternal nature was undeniable. If the younger ones scraped a knee or caught a sickness, it was Eleonora's name they cried before their own mother. Maybe, Eleonora thought occasionally, that Catelyn would have been a wonderful mother naturally if it had not been for Jon. When Eddard Stark brought home that beautiful brown-eyed baby in his arms, a part of Catelyn Stark died.

Eleonora can remember it like was yesterday. She was toddling around in the tall grass, carefully holding Robb's small hands and holding him steady. She wanted Robb to be able to stand proudly on his own upon their father's return. Her mother had been holding back tears of joy the entire day, waiting to hear from a scout to report back that Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell was returning. Robb stood on his own two feet, clinging to his older sister's skirts, when their father rounded the courtyard to be greeted by his family and the other inhabitants. Eleonora can recall the happiness in her mother's eyes wither and disappear in an instant as soon as her eyes rested on Jon Snow, her husband's bastard. Nora has never seen that joy return to her mother's eyes, not completely.

"I know what you want to speak with me about, Eleonora," said Catelyn as soon as Sansa was out of earshot. "And my answer remains a firm 'no.'"

"You're being ridiculous," said Eleonora.

"And you're being naïve," she replied, putting away the handsomely crafted brushes in the vanity drawers behind her.

"I am far from naïve, Mother," she frowned.

"How would it look for your father's bastard to stand in line with _my _children to greet the king?"

"It would appear that father wanted all of _his_ children in attendance," she replied.

"This is not a topic up for discussion," said Catelyn, pushing in the vanity drawer a bit too harshly and nearly knocking the mirror clean off.

"You may not call him your 'son,' but he is my brother," said Eleonora, "and there us nothing you could say or do to change that."

"I do not call him my 'son' because he is not _my_ son," she said, closing her eyes and releasing a deep breath, her back still facing her eldest daughter. "I had six children grow inside my womb – Jon Snow was not one of them."

There was pain in her voice, the hate was hidden by her sheer agony. Eleonora adjusted the snoozing Rickon on her hip and sighed.

"If Jon does not stand as a Stark to greet the king then neither shall I," said Eleonora.

"You will do no such thing," said Catelyn, spinning around on her heel. "King Robert will be here within the hour, and you cannot simply not stand with the family."

"You have no problem ostracizing Jon," she replied. "You'd see him be hidden away with the likes of idiot Theon for fuck's sake."

"Neither of them are Starks," Catelyn exclaimed, "you are – and don't swear."

"Jon is no less a Stark than I am," she said.

"You are not ignorant to the sovereign customs and traditions," said Catelyn, "No respectable Lord would have his bastard standing beside his legitimate–"

"Nora–" Arya had swung around the corner and slid most ungracefully in to the room. She was covered in mud and soot from only the gods know where. She knew instantly that she had interrupted a very private and heated conversation between her mother and sister. Arya slammed her mouth shut for a long second, heaving several heavy breaths from sprinting across the castle.

"Arya, what in the heavens happened?" asked Catelyn. "There isn't time for foolishness today."

"Were you fighting with Bran again?" asked Eleonora, Arya nodded. "The wooden swords?"

"Yes," said Arya, still gasping for breath.

"Well, did you win?" asked Eleonora, smirking slightly.

"Yes," Arya smiled.

"Good girl," Eleonora grinned, placing her arm around Arya's shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up before mother strangles you with her bare hands. But, let's find your little brother first – I'm assuming if you look like this after winning a spar then I fear the thought of Bran's state. Did you split his lip like last time?"

"No," said Arya.

"Good," said Eleonora, "come on then."

She didn't give Catelyn the opportunity to interject. Eleonora gently led Arya in to the hallway, still propping the sleeping Rickon on her hip. Nyx followed behind them. Nora turned back to her mother for a moment.

"This conversation isn't over," said Catelyn.

"It is for now," said Eleonora. "I'll see you at the feast, but I will certainly not greet the king without all of my siblings present. I'm taking Nyx on a walk."

–

"Where is Eleonora?" asked Lord Eddard Stark to his wife as she took her place beside him.

"Jon," she said and instantly her husband knew exactly what had happened.

His eldest daughter was the most stubborn and defiant of all of his children. Most would assume that because of her relentless bullheadedness she was trouble, but this was not the case. Lord Eddard had always considered Eleonora as his wisest child, most capable and willing to make the tough decisions that others might avoid. She saw things from a different perspective than her father, causing them to butt heads at times. However, Ned appreciated and respected her input. She kept him honest, and he owed her a debt of gratitude for it. At the same time, he worried for her. She was irrefutably beautiful, she had the crystal blue eyes of the Tully's and the distinct Stark features that his sister had once used to command the hearts of many hopeless suitors. She had a kind heart deep down, a fierce athletic ability, and a natural gift with children, but Eleonora's downfall was her quick tongue. No man would see Nora's wit and occasional vulgarity to be a well sought-after trait in a wife. Ned knew that Eleonora was not keen to be matched with anyone she did not know or particularly care for like many girls her age who were chomping at the bit for a husband and children from a good family.

"It is safe to assume you don't want hear my input then," said Ned.

"You assume correctly," she said, straightening her skirts and avoiding eye-contact with her husband.

–

"How could anyone in their right mind live here?" asked Jaime Lannister to his younger, Tyrion. "It's fucking freezing."

"I'm assuming those who live here find it quite amicable," said Tyrion, attempting to read and ride without falling from his steed as he had their entire month long journey to Winterfell. "They might even find King's Landing to be just as miserable and hotter than a bull's ass."

Jaime snorted a laugh at his Imp brother. Jaime was an extraordinarily tall man, and as handsome as any man could ever hope to be – and he knew it, too. He took pleasure out of teasing any fluttering eyes or pair of tits that sought his attention. He had no intention of pursuing these women, but he did enjoy the attention. No, Jaime Lannister had what was left of his honor as a member of the King's Guard to protect, and then there was Cersei. They had shared a womb, three unclaimed children and a forbidden taboo love of a lifetime. There were whispers, of course, but no one dare raise their voice to speak the incestuous rumors about the two of them; not if they wanted to keep their tongue in their head.

"I suppose you care very little about the temperature of a location and very much about the accessibility you have to local brothels," said Jaime, smirking to himself.

"And they say a half-decent brain could never accompany those good looks of yours," said Tyrion, causing his brother to chuckle slightly. "I understand Northern women are quite friendly."

"Friendly?" Jaime snorted. "Is that what they're calling it now?"

"Dark hair, pale skin..."

"As if you have a preference," said Jaime. "If a whore has a working cunt and a pulse then you're perfectly content – in that order, mind you."

"Give me some credit, brother," said Tyrion, smiling behind his book. "I consider myself a connoisseur of good-looking women. For example, I understand Ned Stark's eldest daughter is quite the beauty, and I look forward to inspecting such a specimen for myself."

"I truly hope she lives up to your expectations," Jaime grinned.

"As do I," said Tyrion.

–

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon.

Lord Eddard Stark knew many of the riders. There came Ser Jaime Lannister with hair as bright as beaten gold, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face. The tall boy beside him could only be the crown prince, and that stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

Yet the huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, seemed almost a stranger to Ned... until he vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a familiar roar, and crushed him in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have not changed at all."

Would that Ned had been able to say the same. Fifteen years past, when they had ridden forth to win a throne, the Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too, his weapon of choice a spiked iron warhammer that Ned could scarcely lift. In those days, the smell of leather and blood had clung to him like perfume.

Now it was perfume that clung to him like perfume, and he had a girth to match his height. Ned had last seen the king nine years before during Balon Greyjoy's rebellion, when the stag and the direwolf had joined to end the pretensions of the self-proclaimed King of the Iron Islands. Since the night they had stood side by side in Greyjoy's fallen stronghold, where Robert had accepted the rebel lord's surrender and Ned had taken his son Theon as hostage and ward, the king had gained at least eight stone. A beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes.

Yet Robert was Ned's king now, and not just a friend, so he said only, "Your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. The wheelhouse in which they had ridden, a huge double-decked carriage of oiled oak and gilded metal pulled by forty heavy draft horses, was too wide to pass through the castle gate. Ned knelt in the snow to kiss the queen's ring, while Robert embraced Catelyn like a long-lost sister. Then the children had been brought forward, introduced, and approved of by both sides.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Eddard. I would pay my respects."

–

"Jory," she breathed, hoarse and no louder than a whisper.

Jory Cassel didn't say anything. He responded by running his fingers through Eleonora's untamed hair, gripped her roots and placed a hard kiss on her lips that she returned. Her naked back was forced up against the thick trunk of an enormous ironwood tree along the line between the forest and the castle walls. He released a quiet involuntary moan and pulled her down to meet his lips again. Jory suddenly, wrapped his arm around Eleonora's small waist and harshly yet gently forced her back to arch against the rough bark.

Neither of them wanted the other as anything more than casual lovers. They had both used each others bodies for each others pleasures since Nora was sixteen and Jory was twenty six. However, the occasional loneliness they shared was the one thing that brought them together. Both of them yearned for relief, something to dull the feeling. Maybe this – this brief affair of passion could make the pain slightly more bearable. Eleonora's back arched as Jory released an involuntarily moan that she returned. Nora pushed herself up higher after several more thrusts, wrapping her arms around Jory's neck as he lifted her up and brought her to straddle his waist. Her fingernails dug in to his back, biting his collarbone to stifle a cry of passion that sat muffled in her throat.

"Don't stop," she muttered, biting Jory's ear as she continued to synchronize his thrusts. "Please, don't stop."

It was plea, and she meant it. Jory buried his face in Eleonora's neck, his hot breaths titillating her skin as his thrusts intensified. Several moments later the pair climaxed together, their bodies locked together, breathing as if they had just run to escape a wild beast. They remained in a loose embrace for a few silent minutes, catching their breaths and sharing body heat. Finally, Jory pulled away from Eleonora, tucking his manhood back into his trousers and clasping his belt. Eleonora pulled the top of her gown back over her shoulders and released her skirts to fall to the cold earth again. She combed her fingers through her hair, trying to look as put together as she did before she went for a "walk" with Nyx.

Eleonora and Jory's meetings had started out as a way for the Captain of the Guard to give the eldest Stark daughter secret sword fighting lessons upon her request. It turned in to a mixture of swordplay and foreplay rather quickly, sometimes one outweighed the other. Lord Stark had instructed Jory to accompany an honor guard to lead King Robert Baratheon's party along kingsroad to Winterfell. Robb had mentioned to Jory upon his return where Eleonora had gone opposed to greeting the king and his court, and Jory knew exactly where to find his sparring partner.

Nora always found herself claiming the same spot in the grove to calm herself when she was angry or upset. At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. "The heart tree," her lord father called it. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself. They had seen Brandon the Builder set the first stone, if the tales were true; they had watched the castle's granite walls rise around them. It was said that the children of the forest had carved the faces in the trees during the dawn centuries before the coming of the First Men across the narrow sea.

In the south the last weirwoods had been cut down or burned out a thousand years ago, except on the Isle of Faces where the green men kept their silent watch. Up here it was different. Here every castle had its godswood, and every godswood had its heart tree, and every heart tree its face.

"If your father knew we've been sneaking out here for years to practice your swordsmanship – he'd have my head on a spike," said Jory, picking his sword from the frozen earth and placing it back in its holster.

"And imagine what my father would do to your head if he knew we've been sneaking around for years to fuck each others brains out," said Eleonora, placing a very raw and savage kiss on his mouth, biting his lower lip before finally releasing him. Jory's face went sour for a second at the thought, swallowing hard.

"We should get back," said Jory, anxious to change the subject. "I'm certain the ceremony is over and Lady Catelyn will be looking for you before the feast begins."

"She won't be looking for me," said Eleonora, rolling her eyes and slipping her own sword in to her holster as Nyx returned from the forest with a dead rabbit in her mouth, "that would imply that she wanted to actually find me."

–

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

The second hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king had passed before Eleonora arrived. Her brothers and sisters (besides Jon) had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, her lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine. Nora had snatched a goblet of wine off the nearest servant's platter and drank the liquid down as quick as a tavern drunkard. She had consumed three goblets before she claimed her fourth and Jon had spotted her, hiding behind a pillar to avoid notice. She was positioned higher up on a ledge, looking over the stone railing at an angle to remain hidden. Jon looked miserable, drinking his wine at the end of a table of strangers instead of beside his blood relatives. It made her stomach turn.

Eleonora took her time surveying the rest of the crowd. Queen Cersei was as beautiful as all men said. A jeweled tiara gleamed amidst her long golden hair, its emeralds a perfect match for the green of her eyes. Her smile never reached her eyes. King Robert was a great disappointment. Eddard Stark had talked of him often to his children: the peerless Robert Baratheon, demon of the Trident, the fiercest warrior of the realm, a giant among princes. Now he was nothing but a fat man, red-faced under his beard, sweating through his silks. He walked like a man half in his cups.

"I wonder if he knows that he's let himself go," said a deep voice from beside Eleonora. "He must realize that he's gotten as wide as he is tall. I mean, he must."

It was the Imp, Tyrion Lannister, the youngest of Lord Tywin Lannister's brood and by far the ugliest. All that the gods had given to Cersei, they had denied Tyrion. He was a dwarf, half an average man's height, struggling to keep confident posture on stunted legs. His head was too large for his body, with a brute's squashed-in face beneath a swollen shelf of brow. One green eye and one black one peered out from under a lank fall of hair so blond it seemed white. Eleonora stared at him as if he looked like any man though she wished she could watch him with heightened fascination. She leaned her back against the stone pillar, swirling her wine casually in her goblet.

"Perhaps he wants to be rotund," she smirked at the small man. "Maybe he wanted to appear more approachable and less intimidating to his subjects. I rather like his belly."

"I imagine he'll like you as well," said the Imp.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You look quite a lot like your aunt, like Lyanna. You have those Tully eyes though, but I image the great King Robert could easily overlook your one differing physical feature," said Tyrion, bowing. "I mean no disrespect, dwarfs don't have to be tactful. Generations of capering fools in motley have won me the right to dress badly and say any damn thing that comes into my head. But all I meant was that you're just as recognizable as I am. "

Eleonora's aunt, Lyanna Stark had only been sixteen when she died, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Eddard Stark had loved her with all his heart. Robert Baratheon had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride, and Cersei Lannister could never hope to fill the hole left behind in Robert's heart.

"Lord Tyrion," said Eleonora, smiling to herself before extending a polite curtsy.

"Lady Stark," said the Imp, "you appear to be feeling better."

"Pardon?"

"Your mother informed us the cause for your absence this afternoon was due to an illness," said Lord Tyrion.

"Ah," she scoffed, shooting a fierce glare to her unknowing mother. "I am still feeling rather nauseated."

"That symptom might be caused by the three goblets of wine I just witnessed you inhale," he smirked.

"Perhaps," she smiled, admiring his infamous wit. "Maybe more wine will help."

"Nothing cures wine sickness like more wine, I like to think," said Tyrion.

Nora smiled coyly at the youngest Lannister, clicking her goblet against his. She rather liked him and his sense of humor even though his last name made her cringe. The Seven know Winterfell could do with a bit more humor. Eleonora turned and rested her elbows on the stone railing overlooking the grand party.

–

Ned Stark had said little throughout the feast, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Beside him, the king had been drinking heavily all night. His broad face was flushed behind his great black beard. He made many a toast, laughed loudly at every jest, and attacked each dish like a starving man, but beside him the queen seemed as cold as an ice sculpture.

"Ned, Eleonora has decided to join us," said Lady Stark from beside her husband, catching herself for a moment. "She looks to be feeling better."

Ned's face fell further than before, as if something he was dreading had just occurred. His eyes followed his wife's gaze, falling on his eldest daughter. She looked bored, spinning the goblet around in her hand, eying the crowd with little interest. Her long dark hair fell over her shoulders, glistening in the dull candlelight. Something had suddenly caught her eye. Bran and Arya were shooting peas at Sansa and receiving a very dramatic show of outrage from her. Robb was laughing hard enough to grip his stomach, Rickon giggling on his lap. Robb paused for a moment when he realized she had arrived. She smiled weakly at him and he sent her a quiet nod in reply, sharing a million words without uttering a single syllable. Eleonora's gaze then landed on her father.

She loved her father with every fiber of her being, admired and idolized him. He was the greatest and most honorable man she had ever known and would likely ever know. He mouthed "thank you" to express his gratitude for at least attending the feast though she rightfully protested initially greeting the royal party. Something told Nora that her father was not as happy for her to actually be present now, however. He appeared uneasy, almost troubled.

King Robert swallowed another mouthful of wine, quiet for a moment before following the line of Ned's stare. When Robert laid eyes on Eleonora, his heart stopped. He must be hallucinating, looking at a ghost. It was Lyanna. Nora noticed the king was staring at her and averted her eyes on to Jon once more.

"Who is that?"

"Eleonora, my eldest daughter," said Ned, suddenly fascinated with his dinner to avoid eye contact with his king friend. "She must have still been a babe when you last saw her."

"Ned, she looks so much like Lyanna," said Robert in a wistful tone. "It was like I couldn't remember her before and now that face seems as if it has been seared in my memory for eternity. She's beautiful."

"She is not Lyanna," said Ned firmly, "and she is as much a Tully as she is a Stark, and she is my first born."

Cersei Lannister sipped her goblet and glared at the ghost that now haunted her in the flesh.

–

Eleonora watched as Jon's conversation with their Uncle Benjen grew very heated. The pair had been discussing Jon's desire to serve upon the Wall beside their uncle again and Benjen was not having it. Suddenly their table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at Jon. Eleonora could spot the tears beginning to well behind her brother's eyes. He pushed himself to his feet.

"I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before anyone could see him cry. He must have drunk too much wine. His feet got tangled under him as he tried to leave, and he lurched sideways into a serving girl and sent a flagon of spiced wine crashing to the floor. Laughter boomed all around them, and Jon sported hot tears on his cheeks. Someone near Jon tried to steady him. He wrenched free of their grip and ran, half-blind, for the door. Ghost followed close at his heels, out into the night. Nora and Nyx did the same.

The yard was quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood high on the battlements of the inner wall, Jon's cloak pulled tight around him against the cold. He looked bored and miserable as he huddled there alone, but Jon would have traded places with him in an instant. Otherwise the castle was dark and deserted. Jon had seen an abandoned holdfast once, a drear place where nothing moved but the wind and the stones kept silent about whatever people had lived there. Winterfell reminded him of that tonight. The sounds of music and song spilled through the open windows behind him. They were the last things Jon wanted to hear. He wiped away his tears on the sleeve of his shirt, furious that he had let them fall. He slouched down on a stone bench to escape the crowd.

"Jon," called Eleonora, pulling her fur hood over her head.

"I'm fine, Nora," he said in a much harsher tone than he had intended. "Go back inside. You're missing the celebration."

"How can you expect me to celebrate anything when you're out here alone?"

"I just want to be alone," he replied.

"No one who says that ever actually means it," she smiled kindly, sitting beside her brother and nudged his shoulder affectionately. "Now, you can either tell me what's troubling you or you can sit here and listen to me sing along with the bard. And you've heard me sing–"

"I want to take the Black, join the Night's Watch," Jon interrupted as if he'd wanted to shout it to the stars.

"Jon–"

"I know what you're going to say," he frowned. "I'm too young, it's too dangerous and it's too big of a commitment."

"Jon–"

"Well, I'm almost a man," he began. "I know what the vows mean, and I'm prepared for such a commitment. And I can take care of myself. I'm better than Robb with a sword, I'm the best on a horse in Winterfell, and you taught me well with arrows. I'll be fine."

"Jon–"

"And I'm a bastard," he said finally. "I will never have the opportunities you or Robb or any father's legitimate children will have. My future is what I make it and the Wall is what I make it."

"Jon," Eleonora finally managed to get out, "all I was going to say was, I'm going to miss you."

Jon Snow looked at his half-sister who was a more of a mother to him than he had ever known with wide, stunned eyes. She sent him a genuine, reassuring smile. She had faith in him, trusted his abilities and loved him enough to let him go make his own destiny. He was a far cry from the small boy who used to beg her for one more bedtime story about Daeren Targaryen, the Young Dragon – Jon's hero. He was nearly a man now, more than capable to make his own decisions, and she had to respect that because perhaps no one else would.

"I'll speak with father in the morning," said Eleonora, placing a gentle hand upon the back of his neck. "Now go back inside and sit with Robb and the others. Everyone is too drunk by now to notice and if my mother does – blame me. She's already upset with me anyhow. I honestly think she's begun to enjoy it."

Jon lunged forward and hugged his sister, wrapping his arms snugly around her to express his gratitude.

"Thank you, Nora," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," she grinned nodding for him to head back inside. "Go on, I'll follow soon enough. I'd just like a few more moment to enjoy the fresh air before I'm drowned in smoke inside again."

Jon hurried back inside, drunk on wine and possibilities. Eleonora watched her brother disappear back inside the great hall of Winterfell with Ghost close behind. She cradled her hands in her lap, sniffing the brisk night air. She stood to follow Jon but nearly jumped out of her boots when a voice startled her from the dark outdoor corridor behind her.

"What a heartfelt moment," said the voice, dull and patronizing.

Eleonora spun around, barely able to see out from under her hood in to the darkness. A very tall man emerged from the night. There was no mistaking his identity, Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back. He slowly appeared from the black corridor, slithering in to the moonlight like serpent. He was undeniably handsome, and she could tell he knew it all too well. He had an infuriating grin that made her skin crawl.

"Has no one ever told you it's rude to eavesdrop?"

Eleonora lowered her hood and glared at the Kingslayer. For a moment, only a moment, Jaime Lannister's smile fell. He looked upon her face, in to her large blue eyes and swallowed had. His sardonic grin returned, however, and he licked how lower lip.

"Ah, since when is going to take a piss eavesdropping?" he grinned, ceasing his strides entirely too close to Eleonora and peering down at her. He was used to abusing his incredibly tall stature to intimidate others but it apparently did not work on his small stature counterpart. His breath escaped his lips in frosted puffs.

"How modest," she said. "A Lannister, I presume?"

"And you, I presume, are the eldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. I did not have the pleasure of meeting you this afternoon," he teased, taking her hand in his and kissing it while she narrowed her glare. Eleonora pulled her hand back as if it had been splattered in horse dung. "I am of course Jaime Lannister."

"Of course you are," she said coolly, emphasizing each syllable.

"Please, speak freely," said Jaime.

"If anyone were to cower in the shadows it would be a Lannister," she said boldly.

"Oh, you wound me," he flirted, grasping his chest as if she had shattered his heart. "Have you considered that you Starks are merely paranoid. You know, that can happen when you spend your life devoted to the naïve idea that honor is all that matters – setting impossibly high standards of purity and duty that no man could achieve. Though something tells me you are far from pure and honorable."

He placed his icy index finger under her chin and tilted her up to meet his eyes. She quickly turned her head and took a step back.

"Do not touch me," she seethed.

"My apologies," he said, adding a mock bow before setting forward again. "Has no man touched you before?"

"Don't be stupid," she frowned, shaking her head.

"Anyone would wonder," he shrugged nonchalantly. "You appear to be nearing your twentieth name day and yet your child-sister is closer to a betrothal than you."

"Are you trying to manipulate me?" she asked, never missing a beat. "Make me feel inadequate and lacking something in my life?"

"I am merely stating what everyone is thinking, Lady Stark," he grinned.

"Funny," she said, tapping her chin.

"Enlighten me," said Jaime, humored her.

"You chastise me for my lack of a husband, yet you only wear your title as a member of the Kingsguard to scare off any foul, disgusting rumors of your taste in women," she said.

"You are brave, Lady Stark, to make such false accusations based off the filthy, deceitful whispers of jealous and slanderous traitors to the Queen," he said, tilting her chin up again and this time with force.

"I am merely stating what everyone is thinking, Ser," she smiled wickedly, unblinking.

"And now I understand why such an attractive highborn has never found a proper match," said Jaime. "You would do well to use that clever little mouth of yours to do less talking and more cock sucking. Maybe someday a man will teach you to watch your tongue."

"May the gods, old and new, have mercy on the first man that tries," she hissed.

"Nora–"

It was Robb, stopping cold in his tracks when he saw Jaime Lannister gripping his sister's chin, alone in the courtyard.

"Is everything alright?" Robb asked, trying to hide the fact that he was casually gripping the dagger on his belt.

"Fine, Stark, your sister and I were just having a chat," said Jaime, releasing Eleonora and sending her one final meaningful look. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Stark."

He released a dark humored chuckle and side stepped the young lady, purposely bumping shoulders with Robb as he reentered the castle. It had been a long time since someone had ruffled Jaime Lannister's feathers.

–

_**Author's Note:**_ You guys are awesome. I did not expect almost 100 follow after one chapter. It means so much that so many of you are thinking about following Eleonora's story. I have a lot in store for our wolf-blooded friend. I did use a bit of the book in this chapter, so please don't complain. I know a lot of fans of the show haven't read the books, so I'm trying to give them the literary background. Thank you again, and I plan on doing shout outs to my reviewers after Chapter 3. Enjoy!

_**Coming Soon:**_ Bran takes a fall and is saved by an unlikely source, Nora gets to know the Lannisters and King Robert wishes to get to know her.

–

_**Review.**_


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